


twenty-five 'til nine

by sabinelagrande



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-21
Updated: 2011-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne wants, and Eames knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	twenty-five 'til nine

They're in Cannes; the job is over. It's early, and Ariadne's already drunk, drunker than she intended to get. She's normally a pretty agreeable drunk, with a slight tendency towards hanging all over people, but tonight she's moody and sullen.

They're out on the balcony, her and Eames, never mind the fact that she came out here in large part to get away from him. Eames has known for about six hours; Ariadne doesn't even rightly recall how, something the mark or one of his projections said, a thoughtless, defensive response from her- it was a complicated job, and she hadn't had time to do more than swear at herself and move on. Only Eames was around to hear, which is a blessing and a curse; Arthur would give her a patronizing smile and never bring it up again, while Yusuf would- Yusuf would probably giggle, to be honest. Eames hasn't said anything, so far, but he is thinking it _really_ loudly.

It's not a big deal, except for the part where it really, really is and everybody _knows_ that it is.

She puts her drink down on the railing, a little harder than necessary. "I know you're going to say something," she says accusingly, looking out and away from him, "so go on and say it."

"I wasn't going to say anything," he says, holding up a hand, but he grins dirtily. "But any time you want, darling, just say the word."

She spins to face him. "That's the kind of cutesy bullshit I'm tired of," she snaps. "People always say shit like that and then they never follow through. I wouldn't be in this position if I could find a guy who would fucking _man up_."

Eames laughs. "You're drunk." When she rolls her eyes and turns to go, he grabs her by the arm, pulling her tight against him. "You're drunk, and I'm taking you to bed with me," he tells her, and there's something dark and predatory in his eyes, something she's never seen before. "And if you still want it in the morning, then I'm going to fuck you."

She sucks in a breath, struck by desire and surprise, but she forces herself to look him hard in the eye. "I want it now."

"Trust me, Ariadne," he says, smiling- or showing his teeth, anyway, more feral than mirthful. "You'll want to remember this."

Arthur chooses that moment to walk out onto the balcony; Eames releases her quickly, but Arthur catches it. "Is everything okay out here?" he asks, in a warning tone.

Ariadne is about fifteen miles from okay. She's drunk and she's wet underneath her clothes and Eames is kind of scaring her and that's turning her on even more.

"Everything's fine," Ariadne says; she tears her eyes away from Eames's, turning to Arthur to give him a reassuring smile.

Arthur's expression clearly says he doesn't believe her. "I was just going to order another round."

"None for me, thanks," Eames says. "And I believe the young lady will have another gin and tonic."

Arthur gives them another look. "Okay."

"Let's go rejoin the party, my pet," Eames says to her, exaggeratedly offering her his arm; Arthur puts on his best exasperated look, but he seems to loosen up some. Eames is just being Eames, after all.

Two or three drinks later and the party is starting to wind down; Yusuf is yawning into his beer and Arthur keeps looking at the clock. Eames stands up, levering Ariadne up with him; she sways a bit, needs to grab on to his jacket for support. "Come up and have a look at my etchings," he tells her.

"I hope you've got something more interesting than that for me to see," she mutters. Clearly she's not controlling her volume as well as she could be, because Yusuf snorts into his drink. Arthur gives Eames a look, but he says nothing.

For someone who's lured her into his room to take advantage of her, Eames is very gentlemanly. He makes her drink a glass of water before maneuvering her into bed, gently but firmly extricating her hand when it sneaks into his boxers. He lays down beside her and turns out the light, and the next thing Ariadne knows, it's morning.

Her first thought is that Eames is really, really comfortable, all wrapped around her. She really doesn't want to move, but she makes herself get up and go to the bathroom. When she comes back, she just stands at the bedside for a moment. She looks at him, all tattoos and muscles, and somehow, it still seems like the best kind of bad idea.

He's awake when she comes back and slips into bed beside him; he grins lazily at her. "Hung over?"

Ariadne has to think about it for a second, but the blinding headache and the stomach pains aren't there. "Surprisingly, no."

"Want to back out?"

She doesn't have to think about that one. "No."

"Good," he says, and then he's on her.

He attacks her mouth first, pulling her towards him by the hair, his big body enveloping hers. She's still wearing last night's shirt and her underwear, and he pulls it off her quickly, tossing it onto the floor. His boxers are next, and then she's rubbing up against him full length, the friction of their bodies delicious.

He wraps his hands around her wrists, pulling them up over her head. "Keep them there," he tells her, and when he lets her go, she does.

"So tell me, Ariadne," he says, kissing down the side of her neck. "What have you done?"

Ariadne doesn't quite know how to answer that question, where to start, how much to give up or fake. On top of that, she's distracted by his mouth; he takes one of her nipples between his lips, sucking and pulling, the slightest scrape of teeth.

When she says nothing, he lifts his mouth from her skin. "It's not a very complicated question."

"I, uh," she starts, and why is it so fucking hard to say anything? "I've been-" there's no good way to say it, nothing that sounds sexy or delicate- "eaten out."

"That's a good start," he says, biting along the sensitive lower curve of her breast, drawing out a moan. "I wonder if you've ever sucked cock." Something about the way the words roll off his tongue makes it sound like the most exotic sexual act imaginable.

"Have you?" she says, turning it around on him rather than answering.

"Of course," he says, like it's obvious, and that mental image should not be as hot as it is. "Do you like it?"

Her face scrunches. "What's there to like?"

He laughs, low and dirty, and she can feel the breath of it on her thighs. "I'll teach you to love it," he says, and it kind of sounds like a threat and a promise at the same time. "Shame we have other business to attend to."

He spreads her open with his fingers, and before she has time to get embarrassed about it, he licks her. It's been a long, long time since anybody's done that, and she throws her head back and gasps. His fingers are thick and blunt, filling her up like her own never do; he seems to know exactly where to concentrate to make her buck the hardest and moan the loudest.

It's good, it's so good, but it's not what she came for; she can't help the little noises of frustration that escape her. "Believe me, this is just a warm up," he says, as if he can hear what she's thinking, and he kisses the inside of her thigh before pressing his tongue against her again.

He's on his own schedule; a little more of that and he withdraws, leaving her right on the edge, wanting. He doesn't leave her alone, though; he moves back up her body, kissing her again, his damp fingers finding her breast and kneading it gently.

"It's too late to get away," he tells her, pushing her thighs apart with his knees.

"I don't want to," Ariadne says, half moaning as he slips his hand in between her legs again, stroking over her clit before pushing his fingers inside, three this time, spreading her out. She strains up, wanting more, but he clamps a hand around her hip, keeping her in place. He slides his fingers out, taking his cock in his hand. He runs the head up and down along her folds, and it seems so big that she doesn't even know what she's going to do with it.

"Come on," she says, even though her heart is pounding and she's a little terrified. "Do it."

"Impatient," he chides, but he pulls her legs farther apart and presses inside, through her resistance and on, until it feels like he's so deep in her that he'll never come out again.

"Son of a _bitch_ ," she says, through clenched teeth.

"Sorry, love," he says, but he doesn't look sympathetic; he looks triumphant. He doesn't move, for a moment, just holds her there while she gets used to the pain. Even when he starts rocking his hips, he does it slowly, careful not to jar her and send another jolt of pain up her spine.

She's so turned on and so scared, and she doesn't even know what to do about it. This is all completely out of her hands; with him pressing down on her hip to keep her still, she can't even rock back against him, doesn't even know if she should or wants to.

"You can calm down," he says, kissing her forehead, and he speeds up a little, fucking her a little bit harder. "The worst part is over."

Ariadne's not really sure if that's true or not. She doesn't really know how this is supposed to go down, but she's pretty sure it's not supposed to be like this. She thought she had a handle on it, she really did, but now he's got her all flipped over and turned around, totally off balance.

And it is _really_ working for her.

He's got her legs up on his shoulders and her hands are still over her head and he's really fucking her now. It still hurts, but the pain has settled, become linked with the pleasure somehow. He's biting his lip as he drives into her over and over again. "So tight," he says, in a choked voice. "All for me."

It's hot and scary at the same time, the thought that he's getting off on hurting her, on ruining her, but she's been waiting so, so long for someone to come along and ruin her.

He slides his hand in between them, rubbing at her clit. He's going after her like his life depends on it, like it's a point of personal pride to get her off, which is probably is. "I don't know if I-" she says, unable to finish the sentence.

"You can," he says, "and you will."

There's something about his single-minded focus that makes it easier, like it's out of her hands entirely. She relaxes, just the tiniest bit, and it gets easier, easier to give up and let him have what he wants.

"That's it, darling," he says. "Just let me."

She comes before she realizes what's happening, her hands clutching at the pillow; it actually kind of hurts, clenching around his cock like that, but the pleasure overrides it. Eames growls, biting at her neck and shoving into her, enough that she gasps in pain, and then she feels it, his dick twitching inside of her as he comes deep within her body.

And just like that, it's over.

She hisses as he pulls out of her, leaving her slick and empty. She feels lost and alone and dizzy, all of a sudden, even though he's still right there, still on top of her. When she looks down, she can see blood, and she doesn't know how to feel about that.

He climbs off the bed, standing beside her. "Don't go anywhere," he says, as if she could even stand up right now, when it feels like every part of her is sore. "I'm just going to get a washcloth."

She nods, unable to say anything, not even sure if there is anything to say.

She got what she wanted, after all.


End file.
